


Making Mirrors

by oldwickedsongs



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Character Study, Gen, show canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:15:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldwickedsongs/pseuds/oldwickedsongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reaction fic to 3x12, and Rothstein's betrayal. "You understand, don't you Meyer?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Mirrors

Rothstein finds him behind the desk of his office. He wonders in passing if it’s Carolyn who let him in or the maid- not that either of them would think not to. They’ve seen Meyer with him enough times to trust him, in as much as they trust any of his associates and he isn’t sure if it’s Carolyn or Thomas who made the first joke about his son.

“And here I thought you understood,” AR begins deliberately, practiced hands removing his coat and palming the .38 hanging in the holster. They both know if Meyer came to kill him, he’d fail. Rothstein won’t be killed by a bullet. That is the legend. “Well, go on and ask.”

“How much did Nuck pay you?”

He thinks it is Thomas who first called Meyer his son. Carolyn would never be so cruel.

“What makes you think…”

“Don’t insult me. Not after this. You-”

“No, actually, you **owe** me. Remember?”

Meyer stops just as carefully, cowed and quiet. AR could laugh at how well that boy can play the game. He’ll be bigger than Rothstein one day, they both know it- perhaps he’s smarter too. It’s only the hole in his chest that slows him down; only Charlie and they both know that too will change. He’s not angry either, not drunk and vengeful. There’s no gun or anger left that could touch the two of them. Instead, there’s just the dub sitting at the table wondering how the Bankroll could’ve taken him- despite all evidence to the contrary. “You wouldn’t give Masseira the power you did today unless you had something bigger in sight. You can’t afford him taking that much of the City.” He looks up, would say it in Yiddish if he knew it would burn more. “You don’t trust the Italians that much.”

AR does laugh this time, something old country or just fading. It always did sound false in his mouth. “I only care about this town.”

“And not even that. So what’s the going rate, Bankroll? What did Nucky offer you? What does the House take?”

AR lets the seconds tick away. Meyer could be calling his bluff or folding. Either way, AR loves it. It’s come to be the only time he ever feels like this is a game worth playing. Like everyone, he plays to lose and it’s been too long since someone sat across from him that could best him. For that, he’ll fold if it means the high lasts a little longer. “Overholt. You know what that means; don’t you? What it could mean for _**all of us**_ once production gets underway? There is so much more then this City.”

If it would change anything, even for a moment, Meyer would tell him how much he sounds like Charlie; like any other two cent thug dreaming of the next pot once this gamble clears. They both know how often those come through too.

Meyer tilts his head, remembers the way the old politician looked as they walked out and knows that hungry child hate Thompson possesses, knows wounded kings are still kings. What was it AR taught him? Do nothing when you have no play.

And greedy shills will always sink themselves.


End file.
